


take the stars and show them how to glow

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Comedy, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Family Reunion, Fluff, M/M, Stanley Uris Lives, The Magic Of Kissing The One You Love, alternate universe - everybody lives/nobody dies, five things, some ocs for richie's family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “Oh my fucking god,” Hannah repeats, covering her eyes and turning on her bootheel. “Mom! Dad! Gramma! Uncle Rich and his boyfriend are making out in the hallway!”“Shut the fuck up!” says Richie, scandalized, trying to seize Hannah and clap his hand over her mouth.or: four times Richie and Eddie got interrupted in the middle of kissing and the one time they didn't.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 280





	take the stars and show them how to glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drakarifire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakarifire/gifts).



> title is from The Score's "Oh My Love". this fic was written for drakarifire who asked for five times Richie and Eddie tried to kiss and were interrupted. hope you all enjoy this!

i. The first time it happens, Richie laughs it off.

He and Eddie have been together for fifteen, count ‘em, _fifteen_ hours, from the moment last night when Eddie took Richie to the kissing bridge to see a boxy R with a shitty heart carved into the bridge. Richie, _this_ close to crying, had tugged Eddie a couple of feet to the left so _he_ could show him their initials carved into the wood. They’d kissed then and there, took the long way back to the townhouse to finally pack their shit and leave Derry, and then one of those hours went into having wild sex that very night, eight into sleep, and twenty minutes into a round of morning sex. Now it’s 9:47 AM.

So: fifteen hours. Give or take a few minutes.

Fifteen hours and Eddie’s mouth keeps pressing against Richie’s every ten minutes, like now that he’s had a taste of him he cannot get enough. Richie is completely fine with that, he can’t get enough of Eddie either. Gotta make up for that twenty-seven-year deficit, after all.

They pull up to the diner where they’re supposed to meet with the other Losers, in Richie’s fancy convertible. But the others haven’t made it yet—Richie supposes Bev and Ben are _also_ enjoying a round of victory sex, as they have been for the past week, while Mike, Bill and Stan are doing god knows what nerdy assholes like them do—so it’s just him and Eddie sitting there in his Mustang, with Eddie’s hand over Richie’s on the center console. A week ago he hadn’t even thought this could be possible.

Eddie looks over at Richie, and says, “So—where are they, anyway?”

“Dunno,” says Richie, looking around. He looks back at Eddie, then jacks up the lever on the side of his seat to move his seat back. “But we have a little bit of time—”

Eddie’s already on him before Richie can finish his sentence, clambering over the console to catch his lips in a kiss. Holy _shit_ , and now Eddie is _really_ kissing him, nose smashing against Richie’s cheek, teeth nibbling at his lower lip, hot _damn_ , all Richie can do is just laugh and go along for the ride. And what a fucking ride it is, ladies and fuckin’ gentlemen, Eddie Kaspbrak putting his body in Richie’s lap, Eddie’s hand gripping onto Richie’s shoulder for support, Eddie’s fingers in Richie’s hair and tugging just hard enough that Richie goddamn well _moans_ into his mouth, god fucking _damn_ —

And then Bill knocks on the door and says, “Um. C-Congrats?”

They jump apart so fast that Richie knocks his head on the glass window.

“Shuh-Should probably k-k-keep the PDA down, though,” Bill suggests, looking as if he regrets the last few seconds of his life, where he saw his two best friends trying very hard to stick their tongues down each other’s throats. “Just. So you nuh-know.”

\--

“And that,” says Richie, wrapping up the story as the rest of the Losers are trying very hard not to dissolve into fits of giggling, “is how we ended up coming out to Bill like twenty minutes ago.”

“Congratulations,” Bill says, his face in his hands, “I’m g-g-glad for you b-both. Really. I just d-d-do not wanna see Eddie try to d-duh- _devour_ you again.”

“ _Devour_ ,” says Eddie, offended. “You’re the one who didn’t text!”

“I _did_ ,” says Bill.

Bev breaks, then, falling into Ben’s trembling shoulder with a fit of loud, cackling laughter, slapping against his thigh while he pats her shoulder. “We’re,” she starts, then breaks into a laugh again.

“We’re very happy for you,” Mike says, the only one who is making a concerted effort to _not_ let his laughter leak into his voice. Unfortunately Richie can see the look in his eyes and the way his body is trembling, just a little bit, just enough. Like he’s repressing the laughter very, _very_ hard. “And we’re—we’re very proud too.” He coughs. It sounds like a snicker, aimed at Bill. “Thank you for trusting us.”

Stan doesn’t say anything, because Stan’s lips are pressed tightly together, because he too is trying not to let the laughter leak out of him.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are dicks,” he says, “there’s nothing funny about this.”

“Agree,” Bill says, voice still muffled. The tips of his ears have turned red as a Maine lobster.

“Honestly,” says Richie, “I was pretty sure this would go terribly and I’d have to change my name and go live in the woods forever, so.” He snorts out a laugh. “This is already _leagues_ better from how I thought this would go, you guys,” he says, sincerely, “and, y’know what, it _is_ pretty fucking funny.”

“No it’s _not_ ,” says Eddie, heatedly, as Ben’s heroic efforts at not laughing fail spectacularly, and he has to lean on Mike, who breaks too, hiding his face in Ben’s shoulder. “What the _fuck_ are you guys laughing at!”

“S-Sorry!” Bev says, breathlessly.

Stan looks up at the ceiling, keeping his gaze there. “Congratulations,” he manages to say at last, not looking any of them in the eye. “I think Ben owes me ten dollars now.”

“Oh, come on,” says Ben, barely managing to catch his breath.

“Were you _betting on my fucking love life?_ ” Eddie howls, and Richie laughs, then and there, grabbing hold of Eddie’s shoulder to keep him from leaping across the table to strangle Stan. Bill yelps as they nearly knock over a glass of water onto his pants, and that finally kills whatever self-control Stan had, because then he dissolves into laughter too.

And Richie finally, finally, feels like he’s come home.

\--

ii. The second time? Just plain embarrassing.

Richie comes out to his dad first. It’s easy, because Wentworth Tozier’s been dead five years now, and a gravestone can’t talk back. It’s hard, because a gravestone can’t talk back, and in retrospect Richie wishes he’d done it earlier than this. His father wouldn’t quite have known what to do with it, but he would have tried to be kind about it, in his own somewhat clumsy way. Come to think of it, before the old man died, he’d been sure to casually mention how nice it was that The Gays could marry now. Richie had retreated from a lot of those conversations. Richie hadn’t been there when his dad died, and he’ll always carry those regrets until the day he dies too.

His mom’s still alive, and as sharp as ever too. He comes out to her next, and she pulls him into a hug and says, “So—are you adopting a child any time soon?”

“Mom!” says Richie, throwing his hands up. “Liz has three kids already!”

“I could use more grandchildren to dote on,” says his mom, primly, but she pats his back and kisses his cheek. She has to lean up onto the tips of her toes to do it, and not for the first time, Richie marvels at how _small_ she is. When he was five, she and his father had seemed like giants, but now here he is, much taller than his mother, old enough to hear his back cracking sometimes. It’s strange, how time and age and distance have brought them closer together. “Have you got a boyfriend yet?”

“Yeah,” says Richie, relaxing, and pulling his phone out to show her his wallpaper: a candid photo of Eddie, sipping coffee and looking out the window of Richie’s New York apartment. “It’s Eddie,” he says.

“ _Oh,_ ” says Maggie, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes brightening. “Little Eddie Kaspbrak! You two were inseparable, back in the day.” She claps her hands together then, and says, in a tone that Richie _knows_ means she absolutely will not take no for an answer, “You should take him up here for Thanksgiving.”

“ _Ma,_ ” says Richie, alarmed.

“ _Rich,_ ” his sweet old mother says, mimicking his voice right back at him. “Nothing wrong with introducing your man to the family, since he’ll be marrying into it.”

“He _just_ got divorced!” Richie says.

“All the more reason why you should marry him immediately,” says Maggie. “Don’t waste time faffing around about it. I know your cousin Robbie’s an ordained minister, he could perform a wedding at Thanksgiving if you told him.”

“I’m not—Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not gonna spring a fucking wedding on Eddie just yet, hold ya damn horses,” says Richie, grasping his mother’s shoulders. “It’s not a good time. I swear, when I do, you’ll be the first person I’ll call about it.”

“I had better be,” sniffs Maggie. “After Liz went and eloped with that college sweetheart of hers to _Las Vegas_ , I deserve to attend one of my children’s weddings.”

“I promise you I won’t elope with Eddie to Las Vegas,” says Richie, making a mental note to ask Eddie if he’s amenable to honeymoons in Las Vegas. And, you know, to maybe getting married again, but this time gayer. “But I can ask him if he’s willing to go to Boston for Thanksgiving. I can’t promise he’ll say yes.”

\--

Not only does Eddie say yes, Eddie insists they bring their own food. “ _Homemade_ , Richie,” he says, so they end up making casserole after casserole, and a fucking huge amount of muffins, and even falafel burgers for Richie’s brother-in-law Avan, who’s stricter about keeping to what’s halal than Stan is about what’s kosher. Then they haul all that to Boston, with only one casserole lost to the nightmare that is customs. Which is a fucking miracle.

Richie parks his car in front of his mother’s house. Liz and Avan’s car is right in front of them, and Richie knocks on the front window and peers inside. Nobody. Damn.

“What are you looking for?” Eddie asks, hauling a stack of casseroles out of the trunk.

“You remember when we caught Liz and her jock boyfriend making out on the couch when we were kids?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, and you—were you going to _blackmail_ her again,” says Eddie.

“I’m her younger brother!” says Richie, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m fucking allowed!”

“Not on fucking Thanksgiving, dipshit!”

“When the fuck else can I, huh? ‘Cause we never fucking see each other for most of the year!”

“How about fucking _never_ —”

“ _Richard!_ ” Liz’s voice cuts in, and Richie turns to see his older sister glaring at him, arms folded across her chest. “What the hell are you doing eyeballing my fucking _car_ , asshole?!”

“I’m gonna tear it to scraps and sell it to the junkyard, what the fuck else, dumbfuck?!” Richie hollers back at her. Liz rolls her eyes and raises her middle finger at him, and Richie cackles, flips her off right back. God, every year he forgets how much he missed his stupid-ass sister.

“I’ll sell _you_ to the junkyard, shitheel!” Liz hollers out the door. “Get the fuck in here! And bring your twink!”

“I’m _forty_ ,” says Eddie, as Richie pulls him down the path to the porch, up the steps, and through the door into the house. “I have body hair, I have a normal amount of muscle, I’m not a fucking _twink_.” He frowns at Richie as soon as they’ve made it through, and says, “I don’t remember your sister being such an asshole, man.”

“Because she was always so nice to you,” says Richie. “I bet because you treated her so good in bed.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, and Richie’s heart lifts at the sound. Liz is nowhere to be seen now that she’s ducked back into the kitchen, presumably off to wrangle people into helping. “Not as good as I treat you,” he murmurs.

“Oh, I know,” says Richie, winking. He leans down, one hand resting on Eddie’s jawline and thumbing along his cheekbone. His other hand drifts to Eddie’s hip. “Nobody treats me as well as you do, Eddie my love.”

“Their fuckin’ loss,” says Eddie, leaning up to kiss Richie. God, this is heaven, this is paradise, the slide of Eddie’s mouth on his is something angels should be singing hymns about, the grip Eddie has on Richie’s hip should be fucking canonized. Richie’s gonna start a new religion and he’s going to pray every fucking day kneeling between Eddie’s thighs, sing his praises through breathy moans and greedy pleas.

Right now, he kisses back and gives just as good as he gets, the soft sweet slide of their mouths together turning into something else, because it’s them, they always gotta make it a competition—

“Oh my fucking god,” says Liz’s teenage daughter Hannah.

Richie and Eddie jump apart so fast that Richie nearly knocks his elbow on a picture frame. “Hannah!” he says. “Holy fuck, look at you—”

“ _Oh my fucking god,_ ” Hannah repeats, covering her eyes and turning on her bootheel. “Mom! Dad! Gramma! Uncle Rich and his boyfriend are making out in the hallway!”

“Shut the fuck _up!_ ” says Richie, scandalized, trying to seize Hannah and clap his hand over her mouth. She wriggles free and sticks her tongue out at him, and escapes to the kitchen just as Avan emerges to squint at the both of them. “Avan, control your kid!”

“Hannah does whatever she wants and we’ve long since had to get used to it,” says Avan, with all the resignation of a man who has long since lost all control of his life and is now simply making the best of things. He’s more fond about it than Eddie had been, at least. Speaking of Eddie, Avan nods towards him, and says, sticking his hand out, “You’re Richie’s boyfriend, yeah? I’m his brother-in-law.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” says Eddie, as polite and mild-mannered as though he wasn’t trying to stick his tongue down Richie’s throat three minutes ago. He shakes Avan’s hand and lets it drop. “We brought falafel burgers.”

“Thank god,” says Avan, fervently. “Maggie tries, but her version is just—I’m, uh, not used to it.”

“You can say her version fucking sucks,” says Richie, soothingly.

“I heard you!” Maggie hollers from the kitchen. “Is that Eddie Kaspbrak I hear? Tell him to get in here!”

“Eddie _fucking_ Kaspbrak?” Liz shouts. “Took you long enough!”

“It does, Mom!” Richie yells back. “And shut the fuck up, Liz! Not all of us can marry our childhood sweetheart right off the fucking bat!” He looks around, claps his hands together, and says, “Where’s my favorite nephew?”

“Right here!” comes a young voice, and little Amir comes barreling out of the dining room at top speed to collide into Richie’s leg. “Hihihi _hi_ , Uncle Richie! Mama says you have a boyfriend, did you bring him, did you guys bring me a Rey with a lightsaber, did you guys bring me a _Triceratops_ , did you guys buy lots of chocolate ‘cause there’s no chocolate here there’s just boring shit like turkey—”

“Slow down there, champ,” laughs Avan, gently pulling Amir away from Richie’s leg and ruffling his curls. “What have we said about picking up Mommy’s words?”

“Not to do it till I’m fifteen like Hannah,” says Amir, morosely. “But I’m _nine_ , and fifteen is so far away, I’ll be _ancient_ by the time I get to say Mom’s words.”

“Wow,” says Richie. “What’s that make me and Eddie, huh?”

“Dinosaurs,” says Amir, promptly. He pauses, then swings his head over towards Eddie and says, “You’re the boyfriend!”

“Oh, yeah,” says Eddie, crouching down. “I’m Eddie. I’ve known your Uncle Richie basically _forever_.”

“So you guys have been boyfriends forever?” Amir asks.

“Ah,” says Eddie. “Well. That’s a bit complicated.” He scratches at his chin, and says, “See, Richie and I knew each other when we were too young to have boyfriends, and then when we grew up we kind of lost touch. It was only this year we met back up and, um, I realized I really liked him. Like, _boyfriend_ liked him.”

“So if I grow up I could have a boyfriend too?” says the kid, and Richie buries his face in his hands. Thank god it was Hannah and not Amir who saw him and Eddie making out, because frankly Richie’s not sure he can take more questions than this from that adorable little face.

“Uh,” Eddie says.

Avan pats his kid on the back, and says, “Maybe. But only if your mother and I like them.”

\--

iii. Thanksgiving weekend with about eighty-five percent of the extended Tozier clan is _exhausting_ , to say the least. Richie loves them, really he does, but he can only take so many relatives before he starts wanting to throttle someone. Which is bad, because he already has a body count of one.

He escapes to the garage on day two, because everywhere else is too crowded. Save the bathroom, of course, but people get tetchy when you lock yourself in the bathroom for longer than five minutes, and Richie would rather not incur Liz’s wrath over it. That leaves the garage, where his dad’s old station wagon is sitting under a tarp.

Richie pulls it off. The keys are hanging on a nearby hook, so he grabs those and opens the front door, then clambers into the driver’s seat.

It’s funny—the last time he was in the driver’s seat of this car, he and Eddie had driven out of Derry together to Bangor, to commemorate Eddie’s last few weeks in Derry before he had to leave for New York. They didn’t get blackout drunk like Richie had wanted and even planned for, fake licenses and all, because Eddie kept getting on his case about being the driver, but they’d spent some time just cruising around the city, talking about what they wanted to do when they grew up. The whole time, they carefully avoided the elephant in the room: Bev, and Bill, and Stan, forgetting as soon as they left Derry in the dust.

He had almost kissed him, here in this car. He had almost asked Eddie to run away with him—fuck New York, fuck Sonia Kaspbrak’s needs, and fuck staying in Derry a minute longer than they should. Richie had wanted, more than anything, to _go_ with Eddie, to stay at his side as long as Eddie was willing to have him.

He wonders now what their lives would’ve been like, had they left Derry together that day. He wonders if they could’ve been happier, the way they are now, had he and Eddie gone to LA together. He wonders—

“Hey,” Eddie says, knocking on the roof of the old station wagon to pull Richie’s attention out of his small spiral. He pulls the passenger door open, bends down to look Richie in the eye, and says, “Your mom sent me, she wants you to come help her prep the grill in the backyard. She thinks you’re a fucking grill-master.”

“I could be,” Richie argues, for the sake of arguing, even though the two of them know damn well that Richie doesn’t even own a grill.

“No, you’re fucking not, that’s why I made your oldest and most responsible niece go instead,” says Eddie. “What’re you doing in Dr. Tozier’s old station wagon?”

God, Richie is so fuckin’ proud of Dory, the eldest of Liz’s little brood. Thanks to her and Eddie’s quick thinking he can mope in peace.“If ol’ Went weren’t already dead he’d have a heart attack just hearing that,” says Richie. “He told you, Eds, just call him _Went_.”

“I’ll call him whatever I want, he’s too dead to say shit,” says Eddie, climbing in now to settle in the driver’s seat. “So? What’s up? Why are you moping in your dad’s old car?”

Richie sighs, then leans back in his seat, resting his head against the worn leather. “Remember when we went to Bangor in this thing?” he asks.

“Yeah, and I had to sit on you to make sure you didn’t drink and drive like a total fucking idiot,” says Eddie. “I remember we cruised around the city for a while, and you wanted to take me to this club you said was rad, but when we got there it was closed for maintenance.”

“We ended up drinking Slurpees at a 7/11 instead,” says Richie, fondly.

“I drank a Slurpee,” says Eddie, “ _you_ dumped yours onto some asshole’s head ‘cause he called me—well. You know.”

Richie huffs out a breath, remembering it—some guy had slurred a word at Eddie, and even garbled as it was, Richie knew hatred when he heard it. He’d seen red and moved faster than Eddie did, upending his Slurpee onto the man’s head. The two of them had skedaddled nearly immediately, Eddie cursing the guy out as they bolted for the car. Last they saw of him, his friends were coming towards him, all concerned and shit, and he was swearing up a storm. “Yeah, I remember,” Richie says, now. “You wanted to kick his teeth in.”

“Can you blame me?” Eddie says, putting his hand on the stick shift. “He was being such a dick.”

“I thought you looked really hot,” Richie confesses, leaning in and putting his hand over Eddie’s. “Before that guy came in and ruined it. I was drinking my Slurpee and staring at you, and even in the shitty fluorescent light I thought, god fucking _damn_ , I love you.”

Eddie blinks at him, then he smiles, that tiny, lopsided little smile that says Richie’s caught him off-guard. “I thought you looked pretty good too,” he confesses. “When we were on the road, and you were driving, I was so _close_ to kissing you.”

“No _way_ , me too,” says Richie.

Eddie leans in too, eyelashes fluttering. “I was thinking, man, wouldn’t it be something,” he says, “if I kissed Richie here and now, in this old thing? What would happen then?”

“I would’ve asked you to run away with me, maybe,” says Richie.

“I would’ve said yes,” says Eddie.

“Well,” says Richie. “How about now? Would you still run away with me?”

“God, _yes_ ,” Eddie breathes, and his hand goes up to slide into Richie’s hair as he presses his lips against Richie’s own.

Richie knows, then: he’d run away with Eddie, whenever Eddie asks. He would have done it decades ago, the two of them cramming into a car together and leaving Derry in the dust, hand in hand, chasing a future with space for them both. He’ll do it now, if Eddie ever wants it—pack up his shit, take Eddie’s hand in his, and set a course for wherever. For the horizon in the distance, if that’s where Eddie wants to go. Anywhere, as long as they’re together, with room for the rest of the Losers.

And then—

“Oh my _god_ , Uncle Richie!” yelps Dory, and Richie knocks his head on the glass trying to scramble out of the car.

Dory’s standing in the doorway, a few strands of dark hair escaping from her hijab. Her eyes are wide and shocked, her hand pressed to her mouth, and her face is flaming red like a tomato.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I can just—I can leave you guys to it? Um.”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” says Eddie. “God, we’re just—scarring your sister’s kids for life, huh.”

“No, no, it’s fine, Dors,” says Richie, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s Eddie’s fault, leaving the door open.”

“ _My_ fault?!” Eddie squawks.

“Yeah, you should know better than to leave the door open when you wanna get in some lovin’,” says Richie.

“Grandma wanted your help,” says Dory, “but uh—you know what, I can just go back to her and tell her you guys are very busy, um—”

“Oh, _no_ ,” says Eddie, alarmed. “We’re going.”

“But we were gonna make out like horny teenagers in my dad’s station wagon!” Richie says, as Eddie grabs his hand and yanks him towards the door.

“ _Please_ , Uncle Rich,” says Dory, despairing. “Please don’t say anything more.”

\--

iv. **VIDEO TRANSCRIPT OF RICHIE TOZIER’S RED CARPET INTERVIEW AT THE 2017 EMMY AWARDS:**

 **Peter Redman:** —here with Richie Tozier! Hi, Richie.

 **Richie Tozier:** Hey, Pete. Hey, everybody watching at home. Sorry you’re stuck with me and not Kit Harington over there.

[Camera swings briefly to zoom in on Kit Harington, dressed in a black tuxedo like almost every other man on the red carpet, being interviewed by someone else. Camera swings back to Richie, who’s dressed in a navy blue tux. The tie, though, has a psychedelic pattern that clashes wildly against the tux.]

 **PR:** I’m sure people would love to hear from you anyway! Especially about your standup special that’s been _nominated for an Emmy Award!_ And for the very first time, too, how’s it feel?

 **RT:** God—[bleep]ing _insane_. Like, I’m still half-sure I’m dreaming all this, and a clown’s gonna show up to try and eat me, and then I’ll wake up to my boyfriend shaking me awake in bed. [making a show of looking around] You haven’t seen a clown around, have you?

 **PR:** No clowns here! And this is definitely real.

 **RT:** Oh my [bleep]ing god.

 **PR:** Did you ever think you’d be nominated for an Emmy?

 **RT:** Not in a million years! My boyfriend says it was only a matter of time, but he’s biased in my favor so.

 **PR:** Speaking of the boyfriend, where is he, anyway?

 **RT:** Oh, he’s right here. Hold on. [calling out:] Eddie! Eds! Spagheduardo!

 **Eddie Kaspbrak:** [off-screen] Goddammit we’re at the [bleep]ing Emmys you [bleep], stop _calling me [bleep]ing pasta names_ —

[Eddie walks up into frame, hand cutting through the air as he talks, dressed in a pinstripe suit tailored to fit. He looks far snazzier than his boyfriend, and also very irate, getting between Richie and Peter and jabbing his finger into Richie’s chest.]

 **EK:** —when we’re on the red! [bleep]ing! Carpet! And—Jesus [bleep]ing Christ, are we live right now? Did you call me [bleep]ing _Spagheduardo_ in front of millions of people? My [bleep]ing boss is probably watching this right now! You [bleep]hole!

 **RT:** Aw, _honeybunches._ You know that’s how I express my love. [wraps his arms around Eddie and drops a kiss to his cheek]

 **EK:** [wrapping his arms around Richie] I love you too, [bleep]head. C’mere and kiss me like you mean it.

 **RT:** You say the sweetest things, Eddie. [He kisses Eddie, and for a solid thirty seconds the two of them are just full-on kissing like there’s no one else on this red carpet but the two of them. Eddie’s hand is sliding into Richie’s hair. Richie is bending Eddie over at an angle. It’s a damn good movie kiss.

Camera pans to Peter, who is clearly having something of an internal debate with himself.]

 **PR:** Uh, Richie?

[Richie and Eddie quickly jump apart, both looking somewhat dazed. Eddie looks sheepish, Richie just looks like he won the lottery.]

 **PR:** Well! Seems like your boyfriend’s pretty happy for you, huh?

 **RT:** Sure, sure. Hey, Eddie—

 **EK:** Oh [bleep], did I just—

 **RT:** [sliding a hand around Eddie’s waist] Hey, come on, let’s get outta here, yeah? [to Peter:] Thanks for the interview, man, but Eddie and I have to go do—things.

 **EK:** [catching on] Oh, yeah—things.

 **RT:** Lots of ‘em.

 **PR:** Uh—well, good luck with those things! And good luck with the nomination, too.

 **EK:** Yeah, I got plans for if he wins. [He winks at Richie, whose cheeks turn the slightest hint of red.]

\--

i. “I’m pretty sure,” says Beverly, peeking over the diner menu and narrowing her eyes, “Richie’s going to propose tonight.”

“Seriously?” Ben twists around in his seat, and Bev prods his shin lightly with her ankle to catch his attention. “Oh, right,” he says, sheepishly, turning back to her, “what, he told you?”

“He asked me and Mike for ring opinions,” says Beverly. “And restaurant opinions. I swear, if I knew they were going to be here tonight, I wouldn’t have brought us here.” Here being the Lazy Spoon Diner, one of the older diners in New York City—a cozy little relic of the 1950s, with milkshakes and waffles and a whole menu dedicated to all the ways you can turn a plate of French fries into a culinary delight. Bev’s loved it ever since Kay took her here for a post-finals celebration, and it has been too damn long since she last set foot in this place, before she married Tom.

“Yeah, they have a habit of drawing attention,” says Ben, shaking his head.

“We could leave,” says Bev.

“They’ll see us,” says Ben, and ugh, that’s right. She hadn’t invited Richie and Eddie on this precisely because she had wanted a night to herself and Ben, and if the guys see them, it would very quickly turn into a Losers’ night. She loves those nights, don’t get her wrong, but—well, sometimes a girl just wants to go on a date with her fiancé, you know. “Even if we sneak out through the back, we’d be in Eddie’s sightline.” He looks, squints, and says, “Besides, I sort of want to see this.”

“Richie proposing?” Bev asks.

“ _Eddie_ proposing,” says Ben.

“Holy shit,” says Beverly, craning her neck now to watch Eddie and Richie. Sure enough, she can see the nervous way Eddie’s rapping the heel of his foot against the floor, the anxious tremble in Richie’s hand. “They’re both going to propose? How did you find out?”

“I’m in a group chat with Eddie, Stan and Bill,” Ben confides, leaning in close as if to impart state secrets to her. “He added us so we could give him proposal advice. He’s been worrying about this for _weeks_.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Bev hisses.

“He asked me not to tell anyone!” Ben whispers.

“Okay,” Bev concedes, “that’s fair.” She looks over at Richie and Eddie again, and Richie’s hand has slid into his jacket pocket. As she watches, Richie knocks over a spoon and says, just a little too loudly, “Oh, shit, let me get that!”

“Jesus, Rich, are you still going to eat off that?” Eddie asks, about to stand as Richie bends down. Then the waitress comes up with a fancy-looking crepe, taps Eddie on the shoulder, and presents—

“Oh my _god_ ,” Beverly whispers, shaking Ben by the shoulder. “Ben. _Ben._ ”

“Holy _shit_ ,” says Ben, “he went with _Stan’s_ suggestion.”

“ _Stan_ suggested that?” Bev looks at the crepe again, the decorations arranged in such a way that they spell out _MARRY ME?_ in slices of strawberry and banana, whipped cream and chocolate syrup. “God, that looks delicious.”

“We can split a crepe,” Ben says, just as Richie slips the box out of his pocket and straightens back up. “Oh shit. Oh _shit_ , look at their _faces_.”

“I think Eddie’s going to explode,” says Beverly, abandoning her menu to watch.

Sure enough: “Oh my fucking _god_ ,” Eddie near-shouts, “you _fucker_ , _I’m_ the one proposing here! This is my turf!”

“That’s why it’s romantic, that’s why _I’m_ proposing!” yells Richie, nearly shoving the ring box in his face. “Eddie! Eddie Kaspbrak, will you—”

“Don’t you finish the question, Richie!” Eddie snaps, fishing out his own ring and hastily kneeling. “Will you marry—”

“No, I’m the one proposing here!” Richie snaps back, trying to haul Eddie up onto his feet at the same time as he’s also kneeling. There’s a crowd growing around them now. “Jesus fucking—you little turd, will you _please_ make me the happiest man in the world and incidentally ruin my entire fucking career because I’m not gonna be relatable to my target audience now—”

“You were never fucking _relatable_ and your target audience are assholes,” says Eddie, batting off Richie’s attempts to pull him up, “now _will you fucking marry me, Richie Tozier?_ ”

“I said it first!” Richie says. “And yes! Yes, I will! Now you answer!”

“God, _yes_ , Rich!” says Eddie. He surges up to kiss Richie, hard, the two of them wrapping their arms around each other. The diner breaks into clapping and cheering, and Beverly pumps her fist into the air and whisper-cheers, “Ha!”

“You,” says Eddie, pulling away and punctuating every word with a kiss to Richie’s jawline, “are,” kiss, “ _such_ ,” kiss, “a _fucking_ ,” kiss, “asshole, god,” kiss, “I love you,” kiss, “so _fucking_ much—”

“You too,” laughs Richie, turning his head to catch a kiss on the lips and deepen it.

“We have to tell the others about this,” Ben says.

“Ben,” says Beverly, taking his hand, “do we _really_ need to tell them? Right now?”

She can see the gears turning in Ben’s head, as he looks at her, then back at Eddie and Richie, who’ve stopped kissing now and are looking at each other as if they’re the only people that exist in this whole diner. “You’ve got a point,” Ben admits. “Everybody else can wait, but let’s just—give them the night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Beverly, squeezing his hand. “Speaking of the night, you wanna go out the back? I think the lovebirds are going to be a little too tied up in each other to notice us.”

“God, yes,” says Ben, fervently, and Beverly laughs, pulls him out of his seat and towards the back door, and out into the New York night.

\--

**Get In, Losers, We’re Killing A Clown**

_Beverly_  
congrats to Richie and Eddie!

 _B-B-Bill_  
oh SHIT did you finally propose  
wait  
I’m watching you on TMZ right now what the FUCK

 _Mikey_  
Congrats on the engagement, you two!  
We’re proud of you.

 _Stan_  
Somehow I’m not even surprised this happened  
Congratulations by the way

 _Rich Records_  
awwww thanks Stan and Mike you’re a star  
wait we ended up on TMZ again??

 _Eddie_  
that proposal was so much more chaotic than I thought it would go  
of course it ended up on TMZ  
sorry you had to find out that way you guys

 _Ben_  
Oh, no, Beverly and I were there

 _Rich Records_  
I fuckin knew it  
I would recognize that red hair anywhere Miss Marsh

 _Beverly_  
it was date night!!  
how was I supposed to know it was the same night you sucked it up enough to marry him?

 _Rich Records_  
okay fair but STILL

 _Eddie_  
we’re looking at a summer wedding next year

 _Rich Records_  
we’re going to VEGAS

 _Eddie_  
I’m not getting married by an Elvis impersonator

 _Rich Records_  
we’re going to city hall and THEN to VEGAS for the honeymoon

 _Eddie_  
fuck yeah we are


End file.
